


The Faraway Champion

by Welsper



Category: Corruption of Champions, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Come Inflation, Crossover, Deepthroating, Double Penetration, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Gang Rape, Large Cock, M/M, Minotaur - Freeform, Rape, Sex Pollen, Size Difference, Size Kink, Stomach Deformation, come addiction, dub-con, monster fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-24 17:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17708909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welsper/pseuds/Welsper
Summary: Through an accident, Geralt of Rivia arrives in Mareth. There, he must try to resist the temptations that await.





	The Faraway Champion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wednesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/gifts).



> Had a hearty chuckle when I saw the request for Corruption of Champions. I am very fond of it myself.  
> What a great champion Geralt would make. Fits right into Mareth.

It had been a few days since Geralt of Rivia had fallen through a magic portal after touching a glowing stone he found in a cave. He had landed in a world that was called Mareth, as he had learned by now and was filled to the brim with demons and monster hybrids. Although they were very different from what the witcher was used to. But Geralt was different from what they were used to as well. No one knew what a witcher was, and they thought him something called a Champion. A Champion for whom or what Geralt didn’t know, but apparently they got them often. And corrupted them just as often to turn them into one of their own ranks.

Geralt was idly turning the sword he had found near the lake in his hands. It was very different from the swords he was used to but it did the job just as fine. No silver swords in this realm and neither was this one, but no matter how many monster traits the people here had, it worked against them. More often than not though, the fights didn’t end in death. Subdued enemies mostly just accepted defeat and it was up to Geralt whether to spare them or kill them. Or even fuck them. That was mostly what they expected. Especially the imps and goblins, little pests who only had cock on their mind. Geralt’s cock, to be precise. Either to simply sate their carnal desires or have him sire children on them. Geralt often encountered a particularly insistent one in the forests who turned aggressive the moment the witcher told her he was infertile only to try it all again next time. The monsters _all_ acted like the succubi back home. Even though they had succubi in Mareth as well – of course they would have.

Not all of his skills seemed to have come here with him – or at least they were prevented from working by whatever laws that governed this world. Geralt was searching around the mountains he had discovered, hoping to test his blade against different foes. Now, he was staring right at one that might prove useful. It looked a little like a chort – it resembled an ox’s head on a man’s body, only much larger. Geralt swallowed as he spotted a large cock barely hidden behind the creature’s loincloth before shaking his head as if that might help rid him of the unwanted thought.

“Try me, then. Bet I’m a little different than the other Champions you get,” Geralt said as he drew his blade. To his dismay, he wasn’t actually that much different and the magic of this world affected him just as all the others that had come before him. He and his blade stood no chance against the minotaur, his skills seemingly forgotten like they were when he had been struck with amnesia.

Soon, Geralt was forced to his knees by the creature and there was no doubt what it wanted when a thick, absurdly large erection was slapped against the witcher’s face. He didn’t want to get killed by the minotaur and die in this strange world. At least that’s what Geralt told himself when he obediently opened his mouth as the heavy-smelling tip of the bull cock was pressed against his lips. It was definitely not the scent that was making his head swim and _want_ that thing down his throat…

The minotaur wasted no time and was soon pistoning in and out of Geralt’s throat who couldn’t do much but hang onto the fur of the creature’s thighs, gagging and choking on the hot organ. He tried to angle his throat straighter to make the assault a little easier but all that did was make the minotaur slip deeper. To his own shame, Geralt found that he didn’t mind being defiled so. By the time the minotaur filled his stomach with nearly a gallon of hot come, Geralt had orgasmed himself and was shaking heavily. He fell onto his elbows, coughing and gasping, his throat raw and used. The minotaur trotted off, leaving the witcher turned cocksleeve to his own devices.

One day, while once again wandering the spacious mountains (and definitely _not_ hoping to meet another minotaur), Geralt came across a little shop. After thinking about it for a moment, he entered it. It looked to be a barber shop with bottles and boxes of hair dye and scissors on the counters and mirrors on the walls.

“You shave beards in here?” He asked the goblin woman sweeping the floor and scratched his stubbly chin.

“Sure thing sweetie,” Lynnette, the owner, said. “I’ll just need some nice hot and sticky seed delivered to me and I’ll do your hair any way you want. We got glory holes in the back – how about a nice long suck of imp or minotaur cock? They’re really popular! We got others too if that’s not your thing!”

Geralt wasn’t even surprised to hear what the payment was. Of course it would be. That’s just how things in Mareth were.

“You want me to suck a cock to cut my beard?”

“Or I could suck yours, handsome, but a girl has got to feed her babies, you know?”

The moment Lynnette had mentioned minotaur cock, Geralt had felt his own dick harden at the prospect of getting to suck one off again. It made him feel uncomfortable, but this world had dulled his witcher senses which were telling him this was all a horrible idea. Whatever the minotaur had pumped into him, it made him crave more of it.

“Yeah, about that… think I’ll go with different payment this time,” Geralt muttered and pointed over his shoulder to the backdoor of this fine establishment – where the glory holes were.

“Of course sweetie, you just go right ahead,” Lynnette said and waved her hand.

What the fuck was he doing? Geralt didn’t know any more. All he knew was to drop to his knees the moment he was faced with the large minotaur cock hanging out of the hole and press his lips against the hot, rough skin. He inhaled deeply when the familiar musk he craved so deeply hit his nostrils. It was shameful for a witcher to be like this, on his knees to suck a monster’s prick. Still, Geralt couldn’t do anything but long for that huge cock down his throat.

Geralt licked his lips and opened them to wrap them around the moist head of the sizeable dick. He almost had to unhinge his jaw for that and it hurt, but the drops of pre-come that landed on his tongue had him moaning like some drunken slut. His tongue was pressed tightly against the hard member and slowly, Geralt inched his face forward, taking it deeper inside his mouth. It seemed the minotaur grew impatient. The monster drew back from Geralt’s lips and before the witcher could protest, slammed his hips against his side of the wall and forced his hard cock deep inside the man’s throat. Geralt gagged and clawed at the wall, his yellow eyes wide and glazed over. His own cock was dribbling pre-come without him touching it and whatever coherent thoughts the witcher had left were disgusted at his own behaviour.

Soon he was bobbing his head forward in time with the minotaur’s thrusts, his lips being forced past all three ridges until his nose was flat against the hairy and damp skin of the creature’s hips. Geralt could barely breathe any more but he didn’t care. His partner behind the wall was groaning and growling in approval and Geralt wanted nothing more to please him so he would shoot his thick load down his throat and into his stomach. Wet noises filled the room as the monster fucked the witcher’s face roughly and Geralt took it all. His voice was muffled by the large cock bulging his throat but he could still hear himself moan as his mouth was used. Feelings of shame and humiliation came crashing down on Geralt along with his orgasm as the beast roared and came lodged deep inside his throat. Geralt could feel his stomach fill distend from the sheer amount of semen forced inside his body.

Coughing, the witcher drew back, somehow remembering to collect some of the payment for the goblin hair stylist with the help of an aide that appeared at his side. Soon after, on wobbly knees, the now clean-shaven witcher left the salon to return to his camp.

This world was getting to Geralt. The longer he spent in this place, the more his mind began to swim. Yesterday he had paid a goblin some gems for something called a porno magazine and he wasn’t even sure any more why. The book had some nice pictures of minotaurs in it. Geralt was very familiar with their bodies now and craved another encounter. It was hard to forget the taste or the smell and the way their seed had filled his stomach… No matter where he went, which part of this world he explored, trying to find a way back. No matter who or what he fucked or got fucked by – his mind always returned to the thick hot liquid he had tasted so often.

After days of avoiding the mountains and trying to find other ways to distract himself, Geralt couldn’t resist any longer. His corrupted witcher senses, attuned to sniffing out minotaurs now, led him on the trail in the mountains and he followed his nose until he found a cave. Whatever was left of the rational mind of one who had been hunting monsters for long decades was ashamed at what he had become. But what had become of him in Mareth – little more than a desperate monster cocksleeve – immediately wanted to throw himself in front of the minotaur group that were sitting around a fire.

His sword soon lay forgotten in a corner of a cave, hardly used as Geralt was forced on his knees by strong minotaur hands. He barely struggled any more, to his own horror, even welcomed the cock shoved into his mouth and lapped at it as good as he could with his tongue pressed tightly against it. His arms were yanked up and his palms pressed against the cocks of two more minotaurs. Geralt was a large man, but he couldn’t even wrap his hands around half the girth of the massive dicks. The strength of the minotaurs was overpowering his drugged body and Geralt was little more than a masturbatory aid for the monsters as his throat and hands were scraped raw by the assault. Happily, Geralt sat there and let the minotaurs shower him in their seed when they were done with him. He drank down what landed in his mouth hungrily. The taste numbed the feelings of shame and humiliation, but only barely. The witcher didn’t have much time to think about it as a big hand on his back pushed him forward until he was positioned on his hands and knees.

“Not there… not you,” Geralt slurred as one of the ox men put himself behind the witcher and pressed his giant cock against his hole. It might just kill him. But it didn’t and Geralt moaned as the massive organ speared him, slicked by sperm and blood. The minotaur didn’t give him any time to adjust and started thrusting deep and hard into his scarred body. It was relentless and Geralt loved it, all he wanted was to come with this thing shoved into his stomach and pumping him full. His loud moans turned into a protesting whine as the minotaur stopped fucking into him for a moment.

His eyes widened in terror as the monster stood up with Geralt still impaled on its cock and he saw what was going to happen. Another minotaur stood at full mast before them, grabbed Geralt’s legs and started shoving another huge cock into the broken body of the witcher.

“Oh fuck… stop, stop!” Of course they didn’t and Geralt didn’t want them to. He screamed as the two minotaurs both forced themselves to the hilt inside him. He was shivering as he looked down and saw his belly distend from the cocks shoved inside of him. Every time they pulled out and pushed back in, Geralt could see it bulge out anew. The sight coupled with the feeling of being almost turned inside out made him come harder than he had ever before. His whole body shock with the force and if witchers could cry, he probably would have as he clenched down on the cocks still brutally ravaging his insides. He hated it, and it was all wrong, it was entirely against a witcher’s entire being, this wasn’t who Geralt wanted to be, what had this damn world turned him into, and he also _loved_ it...

“He make good cumslut,” one minotaur told one of the others as they were abusing Geralt’s holes. The witcher was too far gone to protest the new title. Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf, Butcher of Blaviken, Gwynbleidd, Cumslut… sounded good to him.

“We keep at village?”

What? _Keep?_ Part of Geralt liked that word – yeah, why not let them keep him, use him, abuse him, however they wanted… But he was still Geralt of Rivia, witcher and he didn’t belong here, he had friends in another world, a family. And if he ever wanted to find a way back home to them, to Ciri, he had to stop being a slut for monster cock for one god damn second and take back the reigns.

Every one of his holes was dripping with minotaur juices, every inch of his skin sticky and glistening with monster seed. But the minotaurs were just as spent as he was from having their way with him. All the time he had spent in Mareth and what things he could remember from back home had turned him into a true Champion of this world. Geralt managed to defeat all of his abusers in the fight that ensued when they noticed he wasn’t just gonna let them drag him back to their village, chain him up and feed him their cocks all day long.

Actually, that part didn’t seem so bad. Shameful as it was, Geralt knew there was no way he was getting over this addiction any time soon. And maybe he didn’t have to. After all, everything he longed for in his holes was lying broken in front of him on the cave’s hard floor. He just had to take it…

“Get a move on, you ugly freaks,” Geralt told the minotaurs as he tugged at the ropes, pulling the reluctant monsters down the mountain.

“You’re coming with me. Tired of searching for you lot under the rocks. I am keeping _you_ fuckers.”

What were a few more additions to the strange band of followers that lingered around his camp by now, after all? Geralt would make _very_ good use of these newcomers.

 


End file.
